


I Want it All

by JustcallmeZari



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: AU, F/F, F/M, Forgive Me, Gen, I may have screwed up some things, M/M, My First AO3 Post, Timeline What Timeline, after all, but that would give away the plot, inspiration: a certain Lady Gaga song, it is my twisted head, there's a lot more i could mash in here, ya'll could figure it out
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-24
Updated: 2015-05-24
Packaged: 2018-04-01 01:40:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4001107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustcallmeZari/pseuds/JustcallmeZari
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hermione Granger has always been peculiar. Through a chance meeting, a conversation is held that will change everything. There’s nothing like a bad romance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Want it All

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is my first HP/X-Men Crossover. I don't really know if people even want to see something like this, but my brain wouldn't shut up until i wrote it (despite the fact that I'm working on 3 other fics rn.) Yes this is Mutant!Hermione. Enjoy.

Hermione Granger has always been peculiar. She never fit in much with her peers. There was always a question on the tip of her tongue and many did not appreciate that.

She figured that if people did not appreciate the questions, then they would appreciate answers. Unfortunately, that method only bought her the name of ‘Know-it-All’ and a depleting self-esteem.

It wasn’t until a trip to the States at the age of 6, that Hermione found someone that could understand her. He went by the name of Charles Xavier. And he saw something in young Hermione that no one else could see.

He saw a frightening potential. He also made a decision. 

“My name is Charles Xavier, and I would like to offer your daughter a seat at one of the most prodigious schools in the world: Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters.

* * *

“Can you hear them Hermione?” Charles Xavier asked the question for the third time in 10 minutes. He was not becoming frustrated, but was rather encouraging his pupil to reach beyond her logical confines and hear what no other, bar himself, could.

“No!” I don’t see how you could possibly hear anything remarkable! What am I supposed to be hearing, anyway?” Hermione was frustrated and bordering irate. She had been ecstatic upon starting her lessons with the Headmaster himself, but now she was questioning the man’s ability to teach. For ten minutes she had been standing stock still in the center of his office, listening for something only _he_ could hear. She figured if only _he_ could hear it, there was no reason to be listening.

“I’m afraid I cannot tell you that. When you hear it, you’ll know.” Charles smiled benignly at the eight year old and clasped his hand together on his lap. He knew she was capable, and that she was ready to begin developing the powers that would make her great.

“Just close your eyes and breathe. Focus on the inhale and exhale. Make that tempo the center of your universe. Have your heartbeat match it, and your blood flow compliment it.”

Hermione did as he asked and closed her eyes. It took her several moments before she shut out the crackling of the fire and ignored the fact that she was in a room thrice the size of her old bedroom in front of a very powerful and intimidating man that was asking her to accomplish something she wasn’t even sure of.

The sound of her breathing lulled and the rhythm became soothing. Her heartbeat ran in tandem and she was amazed to her the sound of her blood coursing along through her veins. And then she heard it.

  
_“I wonder if he likes me…”_

_“He’s probably making potatoes again.”_

_“Ugh, why is she staring at me?"_

_“Will everyone just stop looking at me?"_

_“Oh! So if x equals 3, then y equals 7.5!”_

_“Huh, Caligula was_ crazy _.”_

It was loud and overwhelming and _surreal_. The thoughts didn’t belong to her, they belonged to other people. It was what the headmaster had been trying to get her to here, she just _knew_ it.

And he could hear it too.

As soon as she made the connection, the voices fizzled out, and she felt lost. Like she had just been in a room full of people, but at the same time, a room full of nothing.

Hermione whipped around and looked at Professor Xavier with astonished eyes. They were wide and unblinking. He could feel the confusion rolling off of her, and could hear the questions without having to hear them.

“What was that? You can hear it! Is this all you can do? Where was I?”

“That, Hermione, was telepathy." Silence.

"Come, there is much more for you to do.”

* * *

“I don’t want to go.” Eleven year old Hermione Granger stared at the letter before her with no small amount of dismay. She had no issue believing that witchcraft and wizardry was real, she lived in an environment with a hairy blue beast, a boy that could turn into metal, a woman who could make a thunderstorm without trying and a man with indestructible claws that could cut virtually anything. And she was a girl who could do incredible things with her mind. 

She just didn't want to leave.

Hermione sat at a meeting table in the topmost floor of Xavier’s school for gifted youngsters. The table was a lovely mahogany, and the chairs were cushioned with soft leather. Around it sat all of the adults who were considered to be close to her: Ororo Munroe, Jean Grey, Logan, and Charles Xavier himself.

The story of Hermione was a sad one. Hermione herself was not saddened by it but those around her most definitely felt their heart strings tugged.

Charles Xavier had offered her a spot in his school after feeling her mind unconsciously brushing his. It was the mark of a great telepath, and something that a young Jean Grey had displayed.

* * *

It had been a particularly tiring day for him, as he had just finished a lengthy lecture at a hall in London, one which’s name he did not care to remember, when he felt the subtle graze if the unaware mind. He remembered searching the crowd, feeling the outer edges of everyone’s conscious.

To say he was surprised when he struck gold upon a girl who appeared no older than 7 years of age was a huge understatement. The young girl had one hand in her mother’s and seemed to be absorbed in book that was held in her other hand. Her mother wasn’t paying the slightest bit of attention to her and when she slipped her hand out of the older woman’s grasp to turn the page, the older woman wiped her hand on her pant leg with a look of disgust about her face.

The child’s father shared a look of disdain between his wife and took her hand, kissing it with reverence. They were attractive people, upper middle class it seemed. Charles spared himself a moment of sorrow for the incredible ignorance of the parents. They were blind to the significance that their daughter held. Could they not see the remarkableness of their own daughter who was feasting on the works of Shakespeare while they traded besotted gestures?

In that moment of allowed sorrow, Charles made up his mind and wheeled over to the family of three as they were waiting in line at a newsstand.

“Excuse me, madam, sir, I couldn’t help but notice something peculiar. You’re daughter, she’s reading quite the advanced book.” Charles gestured to the young girl with a sunny smile and friendly disposition.

“What an odd thing to notice. You were all the way over there, were you not?” The girl’s father gestured to a spot across the room that Charles had indeed been waiting idle previously. He was wondering the true intentions of the disabled stranger before him.

“Yes, I was, but scouting intelligent young peoples is a job of mine you see. My name is Charles Xavier, and I would like to offer your daughter a seat at one of the most prodigious schools in the world: Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters.” Charles figured it would be best to simply come out with his purpose rather than beat around the bush. The man before him seemed like the no nonsense type, and he would use that to his advantage.

“Oh, Eugene, that’s wonderful! But, you’ll have to excuse us Headmaster Xavier, we hardly know anything about this school, perhaps you can come over for dinner, and we can talk about it?” It was the mother that spoke this time. She had a wonderful smile, and smelled of fresh flowers, but her eyes were not nearly as warm as they ought to be, Charles thought. They were the eyes of a predator, not a loving mother.

“Of course Ms….?”

“Granger, Jane Granger. This is my husband, Eugene, and my lovely daughter, Hermione Jane.” Jane introduced her family with all the grace and poise her mother had drilled into her. Her sugary sweet smile flashed dangerously at her daughter who had yet to completely draw her attention away from her book.

“Pleased to meet you all.” Charles extended his hand to Eugene, who had to bend slightly from his height of 193 centimeters, and gave a gracious nod to Jane. He then turned his gaze on Hermione who was looking at him curiously, her mind now trying to enter his even more so, abandoning its subtleness.

Her shot her a knowing smile.

“How about tonight, Headmaster. My wife cooks a divine lamb.” Eugene looked at his wife as she blushed prettily at the praise.

“That would be lovely.”

The dinner came and went, and upon hearing that Hermione’s tuition would be covered and that all boarding expenses would be paid, her parents couldn’t seem to wait to pack up their precious little girls bags and send her off.

Charles was not a surprised as he should have been.

The next day, Charles was sitting on a plane with a six year old beside him, engaged in one of the most invigorating chess games of his life.

* * *

Hermione often wondered why her parents never wrote letter or called. Her best friend, Lindsay, always got calls. Every day she would get a call from her mom and dad. They were separated, Lindsay had told her, and her mom would call her to say good morning and talk about the day before. Her dad would call every night to say goodnight. He wouldn’t talk for long because he was tired, Lindsay would tell her, but he would always say he loved her and couldn’t wait to see her.

Hermione never got that. She figured that her parents were busy and just didn’t have time. Eventually, she decided to call them herself.

“Ms. Munroe, may I use the phone?” Ororo looked down and smiled at the sight of her paint splattered pupil. Hermione Granger had taken a month to come out of her shell, and another month to feel comfortable with asking questions. None of the staff would forget the day when Dr. McCoy told her it was okay to ask questions. The little girl had hugged him (which was an event all in itself) and launched into an unstoppable inquiry of science.

She had grown on Ororo, who was responsible for her age group when she was not on a mission.

“Of course little lamb. Who do you wish to call?”

“My mom and dad.” Ororo felt a sense of dread and with a heavy heart, pulled a smile which she did not at all feel. With deliberate movement she reached into the drawer next to her. She pulled out the stack of index card with contact information on them. Flipping through she found the G’s in a few second and ‘Granger’ in even less time.

She handed Hermione the landline and the index card and waited for the inevitable outburst of tears.

Hermione walked to the corner of the room and sat down. She could see the entire room from there. The walls were painted a friendly sky blue and the ceiling had puffy clouds painted on it. The floor was lined with plush green carpet and in the corner opposite to her was Ms. Monroe’s desk. It was the color of light wood and the teacher in question sat on a black office chair, like the one her dad had in his study.

Not that she knew what his study looked like. She wasn’t allowed in there.

To her left was the bins full of all kinds of toys, everything from Legos to blocks to Kinects. Further up the wall was a wooden house like structure that all the kids played house in. It was full of scorch marks and odd gouges. Sometimes Piotr would shift in the middle of a game and hit the house by accident, or Jubilation would get excited. To her right was the library that they stocked up just for her. She was the only child her age that willingly visited the shelves, thus Ms. Monroe put all her favorites there, like Shakespeare and Tolkien. Dr. McCoy even put some of his science book in there. She read them often, and would have to go to Dr. McCoy after his lectures finished so he could explain them to her.

There was the chalk board after that, it was huge and it took up the whole room. On it were pictures drawn by herself and fellow student that Ms. Monroe would hang up with magnets. Hermione could make out the shapes of the dragon that Kitty drew, and the horse that Theresa traced.

All of the children in her class were gathered around that TV that was on the wall ahead of her. They were watching _UP_. She figured she would make the call while they were occupied so she could avoid being disturbed, or disturbing Ms. Monroe after hours.

With trembling fingers, Hermione punched in the numbers, checking and rechecking with every entry that the number was correct and that she didn’t read it wrong. Finally she punched in the ninth number, and then re-read the number twice. She wanted to make sure that everything would go off without a hitch.

She raised the phone to her ear and tried to keep her hand from shaking with excitement.

It rang once, then twice, then…

_“The number of the phone you have dialed is not in service. Please check the number and try your call again.”_

With a distressed cry that took Hermione by surprise and thus she was unable to keep it from escaping, she hung up and checked the number again, this time triple checking herself. She pressed the call button again and jammed the phone to her ear.

One ring, two ring-

_“The number of the phone-“_

The tears were flowing freely now, and it was getting hard for Hermione to see. Furiously she used her hands and her shirt to dry her eyes and clear her vision. Again, she began to enter the numbers, quadruple checking herself.

_“The num-“_

Mashing the ‘end-call’ button, Hermione began to hiccup and sob in earnest. Why couldn’t she enter the numbers right? Did she have a cognitive function problem, was it a signal problem with her brain? Was she perceiving numbers the wrong way? In the wrong place?

She briefly registered her classmates crowding over asking her thinks she couldn’t understand through her distress. Through one particularly loud hiccup, she saw brown invade her vision and the unique smell of rain and musk reached her.

Hermione buried her head in long white hair as she picked up and felt her back being rubbed soothingly. Except it wasn’t soothing, because her mom and dad didn’t love her. She felt nothing could ever be soothing again.

* * *

It took a while for Hermione to come out of the shock of the realization that her parents didn’t car for her. In fact, it took a year.

During that year, she had read more books of Dr. McCoy’s than she would care to admit, and she had spent a great deal of time with him. He had no problems with her company, and would gladly explain everything she wished to be clarified. Despite the great willingness on his part, he was still deeply disturbed by the lack of vibrancy within her. She was but 7 years old, and she had eyes more lifeless than the X-Men’s most harried veterans.

It all changed, however, when Professor Xavier called her to his office and asked her a single question,

“Do you hear them?”

* * *

By the age of 1, Hermione had grown especially attached to those around her.

“Look at it as an opportunity to learn things we cannot teach you. To grow into a stronger person.” Ororo’s voice was gentle but carried the weight of the sky with its richness and resonant quality. She sat to the right of Hermione who was sitting at the end of table.

“Listen here little lady, you’ll be with us for the holidays, and you can write to us. You’ll be fine.” Logan interjected after seeing Hermione’s posture grow more defensive. He sat on the left of her and bowed his head so he could be eye level with her.

“We’re not trying to get rid of you, Ms. Granger, we merely wish the best for you. You can always choose not to go back, and we would not hold that against you. We want you to at least try. To break from your comfort zone, to grow. You will always have a home here, you know this.” Charles’ voice was quiet but his words held a lot of meaning for Hermione. She lifter head and met eyes with him.

“But our lessons…”

“We will hold them for now. Until then, you can hone what skills you know. You are aware that over exerting yourself is not the proper way of doing things, and you are conscious of your limits and morals. I have not the slightest doubt in you.” The professor’s voice held finality and Hermione realized she was grasping at straws.

“But they don’t even allow technology!” Straws indeed.

“You’re the smartest kid I know, and that’s not flattery. They never explicitly say technology is allowed, just that is doesn’t work. That can be your first project- getting technology to work.” Dr. McCoy spoke up with a roguish grin on his face. Hermione had just lost her last ally.

“Fine. But who’s taking me to England?”

She may have to go, but that was not to say that she would make it easy for her escorts.


End file.
